


the collar wasn't a metaphor

by orphan_account



Category: Red Queen - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: Collars, F/M, Master/Pet, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:45:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7787275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>there's a chain attached to her collar and he pulls on it, lets the metal of the choker dig into the back of her neck, the diamondglass scratches her skin while the silent stone makes it almost impossible for her to do anything to retaliate.<br/>not that she would, the whirring in her ears is too loud for her to focus.</p>
<p>"good girl. you really do play the part of a lowly dog well, you know. you have the submission down."</p>
            </blockquote>





	the collar wasn't a metaphor

**Author's Note:**

> why did i decide to write this  
> god help me this relationship is so fucking toxic and maven tortures her like 24/7

he's standing in front of her, the throne room cleared save for the two of them, and she's staring straight through him, head leant against the arm of his throne, trying with all her strength to ignore the chain held in his hands, ignore how it's attached to her collar. her attempts are futile, though, as he pulls a few seconds later, forces her onto her hands and knees, a slight change in position from how she was sitting a few moments ago, but a pleasant one for him. the diamondglass scratches her, digs into the area of her collarbone, and she wishes she could use her lightning -- if she could, that chain he's holding would become a live wire, voltages that were deadly, even if you're a silver, a god among man.

she can hear the smirk in his voice; she doesn't even have to look up to know that he's smug that he has her like this, disgraceful in front of him, the last person she'd ever want to kneel before, even though she's been forced to for weeks -- months? how long has she been his prisoner? she's lost track of how many cycles of day and night befall archeon, and if she could, she would've kept track through tally marks.

"you know, for someone who seems to have their pride in being proper," his voice is like poison in her ears, claws digging into her brain and it hurts, and for the first time in weeks she's happy that she has the whirring in her ears to distract her from his voice, from his presence as a whole. "you certainly look very nice kneeling like that in front of me."

"it's not my intention to look like ANYTHING for you." she spits out the words like they're venomous and she's a deadly snake just waiting for a chance to bite him, lunge when he's least expecting it and when he's at his most vulnerable.  
she'll never get that chance.

"kitten's got bite, i take it." his hand moves toward her, and he pulls at her hair, yanks her head upward to look her in the eye -- she's wincing, and that satisfies him. "doesn't matter. you'll mellow out once i'm done with you. wouldn't want you to cut yourself on your own claws, hm?"

she snarls, but the whirring intensifies, makes her wince again, and he gives her a smile. "what, is the machine still bothering you? poor mare. here, i'll give you a bit of sympathy. sounds like a fair trade for your time, right?"  
his hand lets go of her hair, and he steps away -- she can barely hear the footsteps, though, until the whirring stops, and she's left with a pounding in her head that doesn't seem to get any better in the time it takes him to walk back over to her. she would say thank you if she didn't know that there was a price for his kindness.  
everything he does is to get something else in return, after all.

so when he pulls on her collar, lets the metal dig into her flesh and leave a line of red that shows all she is, all she ever will be, she doesn't complain. when his hands burn against her skin, she doesn't protest, even when it feels like he's branding her, marking her as his again and again. when his fingers move toward her clothing, peel each piece off of her and leave her exposed in the throne room, with only him to look upon her, she doesn't say anything.

"so well behaved," he comments as his hands run up and down her arms, mare trying to keep from shivering, goosebumps forming where his fingers once were. "if i didn't know better, i might've even thought you were a person."

she swallows down insults, knows that, in moments like these, he's much less tender, much more violent -- speaking out of turn could put her in more danger than she's already in. his fingers move between her legs, and two slide in, curl up inside of her, press against her most sensitive spot over and over and over and he's relentlessly hitting her there and she feels herself tightening and just like that the pressure is gone and his hand is away from her and he's cleaning his hand up and she's left wondering what exactly was wrong, but his laugh makes everything clear.

"you look like you've just seen a ghost, mare. here, let me make it clear for you." he grabs her chin, tilts it up, holds their faces so close to one another and she can feel his breath on her face. "there's a reason that i compared you to a dog, and it's because you're just as disgusting as one. did you really think i'd fuck you?

her face makes him laugh again, and he turns, leaves her naked sitting on her knees in the throne room. "i'll send in a maid to clean you up."


End file.
